


Love Is Worth It

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Coming Out, F/M, Family, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is in response to a prompt on tumblr which requested a modern AU with Bran and Jojen in a relationship and Ned and Catelyn reacting to their son's coming out. This story examines the emotions of parents and son in a pivotal moment in their lives and relationships with one another. Humans are complicated, emotions are messy, and people are capable of being both loving and irrational--protective and hurtful--sometimes all at once.  But with love as a foundation, each of them has to believe they can come through this okay. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Is Worth It

“You’re what?” 

His mother’s voice sounded slightly higher pitched than usual and half choked. Her expression was somewhere between disbelief and hurt, and Bran had to take a deep breath before he could repeat the word.

“Gay, Mother. I’m gay.” His voice hadn’t wavered even as his mother began shaking her head very slowly back and forth. He realized she had started trembling, and he wondered if he should reach out to take her hand.

Before he could decide, he saw his father’s hand come to rest upon her shoulder. Dad had seen her trembling, too, and one thing as certain as the sun rising in the east was that his father would see to his mother if she was in any distress. Bran wished he was as certain of what his father might feel about the words he’d just heard from his son.

Ned Stark wasn’t looking at him, though. His grey eyes regarded his wife with concern, but the rest of his face was unreadable. Bran did think his skin was a bit whiter than usual and his jaw perhaps set more tightly.

“Why would you say that, Bran?” Mother whispered. Bran looked back to his mother’s face. Catelyn Stark’s face was filled with concern. The blue eyes so similar to his own looked at him with the same love that he had known from this woman since before he’d known what love was. But her eyes looked frightened, too.

“Because it’s true, Mom,” he said, praying she would understand. She’d understood him his whole life—his thoughts, his fears, his dreams. Surely, she could understand something that was simply part of him. Something that always had been part of him regardless of how he’d tried to make it otherwise.

“Bran.” His father spoke for the first time, his deep voice quiet, but demanding attention as it always did. “Is this something you’re . . .” He hesitated. “What has caused you to say this to us now?”

As his father fumbled for words, Bran realized that despite his more calm outward appearance, his father was as stunned as his mother. _How could they not have known?_ he wondered. Surely, they’d at least suspected. He’d hoped that was the case. It would make this easier. And they knew _him!_ He’d always been close to his parents. Unlike so many of his friends, he had real conversations with them about important things. Things that mattered. They _knew_ him. How could they not know this!

 _You barely let yourself know it until two years ago,_ he reminded himself. Oh, he’d known. He’d always known—couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t realized the way he looked at boys was quite different than how he looked at girls, but he’d learned very young that his brothers and friends saw things differently and so he’d denied his own self-knowledge for a very long time. Why should it surprise him if his parents had done the same?

“Bran?” The way his mother said his name made him certain she’d said it once already and he’d not responded. He looked at her. “You haven’t answered your father’s question.”

“I don’t want to pretend anymore,” he said.

“Bran,” his mother said in the calm, reasonable, reassuring tone she could take when she wanted to tell you what to do. “This is something that you might need time to think about. To . . .”

“I don’t need time, Mom!” he interrupted her, more loudly than he’d intended, and he felt guilty as he saw her actually flinch. He took a breath and forced himself to continue. “I don’t need time,” he said much more softly. “I’ve had nineteen years already, and neither time nor thinking has ever changed the truth. I’m not confused, Mom. I’m gay.”

“You’re . . . sure about this, son?” his father asked hesitantly as Mom sat there with tears welling up in her eyes.

Bran resisted the sudden urge to roll his eyes. _Sure about this? What the hell kind of question is that?_ “Yes, Dad,” he said firmly. “I always have been. I’ve just . . .” He raised his hands in a sort of helpless gesture and let them fall. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

“You would never hurt us, Bran! We know that, sweetheart,” his mother said fiercely. But then she frowned. “It’s that school,” she said, nodding her head and pressing her lips together as if she’d hit upon the answer. “We never should have let you go to that school. You should have gone to college at Winterfell where Arya is. Where Robb went. I knew . . .”

“It isn’t college, Mom,” Bran said quickly. “And Arya and Robb both know I’m gay, by the way. Arya figured out years ago—before I admitted to anyone. When I didn’t even want to admit it to me. I told Robb last month, when I took Rick up to his and Jeyne’s for the weekend.”

His mother was staring at him. “They never said anything,” she said.

“They wouldn’t,” he told her. “I didn’t want them to so they wouldn’t. I am kind of surprised Rickon hasn’t said anything to either of you.”

“Rickon?” his mother nearly gasped. “Rickon is fifteen, Bran! Surely, you haven’t been saying such things . . .”

“Saying what things, Mother? You think I’m something that might contaminate my little brother now?” Bran interrupted angrily. The stress of finally having this conversation was getting to him.

“No!” his mother exclaimed. “I only meant . . . I mean Rickon is . . .”

“Old enough to know what a faggot is, Mother!” Bran nearly shouted.

“Brandon Stark, don’t you dare use that filthy word in my house. You know I don’t allow any of you to . . .”

“I didn’t say it,” Bran sighed heavily, realizing most of his anger was not aimed at his mother. He was still furious over the events of the past weekend which had precipitated this conversation. “That delinquent Frey kid Rickon spends too much time with said it.”

“Walder?” his mother asked. “Mr. Frey’s grandson?”

“Yeah,” Bran sighed. He supposed he’d have to tell it now. “The punk had one of his older brothers or cousins or uncles or something—who the hell knows, I can’t keep all those Freys straight—trying to sneak him into a club Friday night. I was there. He saw me dancing with . . . someone. Next day he asked Rick if he knew that his brother was a fucking faggot.”

“Oh, Bran,” Mother whispered, putting her hand over her mouth. Father still stood beside her chair, and he once more put his hand on her shoulder. Bran wondered if his father would ever put his hand on his shoulder again when he was upset about something.

“So I had to talk to him,” Bran hurried on, not wanting to think too hard on what his father’s silence meant. Or the fact that his father kept looking at his mother more than at him. “I never intended to talk to him before I spoke to you. But . . . I couldn’t leave him all confused and upset.” He looked from one to the other. Rickon had been a bit shaken up after their conversation, and Bran had been certain he’d go to their parents sooner rather than later. So, he’d told his boyfriend he had to talk to them this week. He didn’t want them to learn from Rick. Apparently, his little brother had been capable of keeping silent for at least four days because his parents still looked a bit like deer in headlights. They hadn’t known a thing.

“Sansa?” his father asked shortly. “Jon?”

Bran determinedly met his father’s eyes now that he was looking at him. “That’s what concerns you most, Dad? Who knows? Well, I haven’t told either of them. Arya told me she thinks Sansa suspects but is too damn polite to say anything. And I’m quoting Arya there, Mom, so don’t get on me about swearing. I haven’t seen Jon since he was home on leave six months ago. It isn’t something I’m gonna skype him about, so I don’t think he knows.” His voice was almost as cold as his father could make his when he was angry, and he thought Father looked a little guilty. It was hard to tell when he set his face in stone like now.

“Who were you dancing with, Bran?” Mother asked softly. “Is this someone you’re . . . dating?”

 _Why do they have to make this an inquisition? Why can’t they just tell me they love me and everything’s okay?_ “Yeah, Mom,” he said, preparing himself for the next inevitable question.

“Does he have a name?”

Bran looked his mother right in the eyes. He’d never lied to her about anything that really mattered. He’d told her when he’d done things he shouldn’t have, and while he’d faced her wrath on any number of occasions, he’d never faced her rejection. He hoped he wasn’t about to face that now. “It’s Jojen. Jojen Reed.”

So many expressions played over his mother’s face in rapid succession, he didn’t have time to read one before it was replaced by another, but there was no mistaking the fury in her voice when she finally spoke again. “Jojen Reed?! Howland’s son?!” She rose from her seat and turned and looked at Father.  
“My god, Ned! We were good to that boy when no one wanted him around! We let him sleep over here when other parents refused to let him in their home! And he thanks us by seducing our son?!” She wasn’t trembling now. She was shaking. “I don’t care how good a friend Howland Reed is to you, Ned. I never want that boy in our house again!”

“Mom, no!” Bran shouted, standing up himself. “It wasn’t like that! This isn’t Jojen’s fault! It isn’t anyone’s fault. It just is! And Jojen and I . . . we’re good together. It’s a good thing, Mom. A good thing.” He had started out shouting, but he could hear the pleading note in his voice as he spoke the last.

His mother buried her face in her hands, and Bran realized she was crying. She didn’t look up at him as she said, “I’m sorry, Bran. But I don’t see how this is a good thing. I can’t . . .”

He thought he’d been prepared for them to take it badly. He thought he was ready to give them some time, but his mother’s words made him realize how desperately he needed their acceptance of him. Of all of him. And of Jojen’s place in his life. And she couldn’t give it to him.

“Dad?” he said softly.

“It’s . . . a lot, Bran. It’s nothing we ever expected to hear. We’re just . . .” His father’s voice revealed almost no emotion at all. He clenched his jaw tightly, seemingly unable to find the words to finish his sentence.

“It’s a lot,” Bran repeated dully. “I think maybe I should go. Give you some . . . I don’t know. Time or space or something.”

His father nodded, and his mother didn’t look up from her hands. He turned to walk to the front door and almost reached it when he heard his mother cry out his name. He turned back to look at her and she ran to grab him into her arms. “I love you, baby,” she said. “I will always love you!” But before he could respond, she’d released him and fled in the direction of the kitchen.

As he stared helplessly after her, his father said. “She’ll be all right, son.”

Bran looked up at him and nodded sort of automatically. His father didn’t say anything else, but his eyes looked sad. As Bran walked out to his car, he thought, _Yeah, Dad. But will I be all right?_

When he got into the driver’s seat, he sat there for a moment looking at the house he was raised in, the one place on earth that had always felt safe, always felt like home. In spite of the secret he’d kept. Jo had told him it couldn’t really be home if he couldn’t be himself there. He’d wanted him to come out to his parents for a long time. “What are you worried about?” he’d said. “Your parents are great! They’ve always been good to me and they’ve known I’m gay since I was what . . . sixteen? And your dad doesn’t let Robert Baratheon talk shit about his brother---the one with the hot boyfriend. It’ll be fine.”

Bran hadn’t been so sure. He still wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything right now. Except Jo. He needed to see Jojen. He picked up his cell phone and texted—‘It’s done. Coming over. Driving now.’

He couldn’t stop replaying the conversation in his mind during the twenty-five minute drive to the Reeds’ house. Jojen had driven up from school with him, but Bran had thought he needed to talk to his parents alone. He was glad of that, at least. Jojen really liked his mother. It would have hurt him to hear her say those things. _Why couldn’t they just be like Jo’s parents? _Jojen had come out his sophomore year of high school and taken a lot of shit for it. His parents hadn’t given him any, though. They’d been fine with it from the start. And when Jojen had become depressed and isolated at school, Mr. Reed had talked to his good friend Ned Stark about it. Dad had suggested that Jojen spend time with the Stark kids, telling him that he had no problem with his gay son. _Only until your gay son fell for him, though. Now you’ve got a big problem with him, don’t you, Dad?_ Bran thought bitterly.__

 _It could have gone worse,_ he told himself. Mom didn’t scream and wail the way she had when Robb had come home from college his freshman year and announced Jeyne was pregnant. And Dad didn’t throw anything or put a hole in the wall like he did when he came home and found Arya fucking that college boy when she wasn’t even quite sixteen. They’d been calm. _That’s good. They’ll be okay with this. They will. Mom said she loves me. I know they love me._

But he pulled into the Reeds’ driveway still haunted by his mother’s other words. _I’m sorry Bran. I don’t see how this is a good thing._

Jojen was waiting on the front porch, and he vaulted off it as Bran turned the car off. His green eyes sparkled with anticipation, but quickly became serious as soon as Bran opened the door and looked up at him. 

“Bran?” he said hesitantly. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know.” He felt sort of drained and numb all at once. 

“You told them?” 

He nodded. 

“And are they okay with it? With us?" 

He looked at Jojen who looked back at him with such tender concern he thought his heart might burst. “I don’t think so,” he said softly, and the tears which he supposed must have been there all along began to fall. 

“Oh, Bran!” Jo said, reaching out to take him into his arms. “Oh, Bran, I’m so sorry, but it’ll be all right. I promise it’ll be all right. Just hold on to me.” 

And Bran did. He held on Jo, let Jo hold on to him, and he cried in the arms of the one person in the world he was certain loved everything about him. 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Cat?” Ned said softly as he walked out onto the patio. His wife sat there, looking toward the woods with her arms wrapped around herself. She’d let him hold her as she’d sobbed in the kitchen, but when her tears ceased, she’d risen and come out here without saying anything. He’d left her alone for a while, but he was worried about her. He was worried about Bran. He wasn’t certain what he was feeling himself so he focused on them, and since Bran had gone and Cat was here, he focused on her. 

“Are you all right?” he asked softly when she didn’t move at the sound of her name. 

She laughed then—a soft, breath of a laugh. “Our son just told us he’s gay, Ned. That he’s gay and he’s in a relationship with a boy that’s spent probably a hundred nights in our home over the past few years—many of those in Bran’s room.” She turned to look at him then, and her blue eyes were filled with pain. “Did we do this to him, Ned? Is it our fault? We brought that boy in and we . . .” 

“No,” Ned said firmly. “We didn’t do this. No one caused this, Cat. It just is.” He sighed. He’d taught his children that over the years. So had Catelyn. Tolerance. Acceptance. They’d preached those things in this house since the children were old enough to understand the words. So why did those words suddenly seem hollow when he was talking about their own son? 

“But if Jojen had never been here. If he’d never been around it . . .” 

“Cat,” Ned said gently. “If Bran is gay, he could have found a boy he liked anywhere. God knows we never let girls sleep over in Robb’s room, and that certainly didn’t stop him from discovering exactly how much he liked them.” 

“It isn’t the same!” she said, and then she put her face in her hands. “Oh, god! That’s the exact opposite of what I’ve taught them all their lives! Listen to me!” She looked up at him. “What’s happening to me, Ned? Why am I like this?" 

“I don’t know, my love,” he said heavily. “But I feel it, too.” He reached out a hand and pulled her up to take her into his arms. “It isn’t what we expected, I suppose.” He kissed her forehead, and then stroked the back of her hair as she leaned against his chest. Looking over head out into the trees, he asked, “Did it ever occur to you? That any of the kids would be gay?" 

“No,” she whispered. “I just never thought of it. I barely liked to imagine them growing up enough to be physically attracted to anyone when they were small. And if I did imagine them grown, I always saw them married and gathered around us with a whole collection of grandchildren with variable Stark and Tully faces.” A small sob escaped her. “Oh god, Ned! Bran can never have that!” 

“What do you mean?" 

“Children! I mean he could adopt . . . or use a surrogate. And I know I’m a terrible person for feeling this way, especially since Jon’s been ours since he was an infant and I do love him like a son even though he’s no blood of mine at all, but . . . there’s just something about looking at our children, Ned. Looking at them and seeing you and seeing me. And knowing that we made them . . . together. All five of them exist because we love each other. And I love that about them! However terrible or selfish that makes me! And Bran can’t ever have that. He cannot make a child who’s equal parts himself and the person he loves most in the world, and I . . . I want that for him. I can’t help it!” 

He knew what she meant. He hadn’t even thought of it until she said it, but he understood her well enough. The nights he’d lain awake with his hands on her belly feeling the life he’d put there squirming around long after she’d fallen asleep. The incredible experience of holding her as she gave birth to their children, of holding those children and always seeing echoes of the two of them reformed into an entirely new person. He had wanted that for all his children, he realized. 

“You aren’t terrible or selfish, my love,” he whispered into her hair. “Or you wouldn’t have already been counting up the cost of this to Bran. You’d still be stuck where I am. Wondering about myself. Wondering how I really feel about my son being gay.” 

“I don’t want him hurt, Ned. And he will be. People are cruel. You heard what he said about that dreadful Frey boy! And then I acted like a reactionary idiot about his telling Rickon. Did you hear what I said to our son? If I can be that hateful, what will the bigots who don’t love him be like?” She pulled back from him enough to look up into his eyes. “I want to accept him, Ned. I will accept him. But how can I be happy about something I know will bring him hurt when I want nothing for him but joy?” 

“He’ll have joy, Cat,” Ned said firmly, wondering whether he was trying to reassure her or himself. “Look at Ren and Loras. Whatever else you say about those two, you can’t deny they’re pretty damn happy together." 

“I know,” she said. “But look how awful Robert behaves toward Renly. And I swear Stannis is even worse. That has to bother him.” 

“I’m sure it does. But our children won’t treat their brother that way. They couldn’t do it. Not ever.” 

“Others will.” 

Ned sighed. “Yes. Some. But someone will be cruel to all our children. We’ll simply have to teach them all to be strong enough to handle it.” _Can I handle it?_ he wondered. _Can I handle hearing some asshole call my son any one of the horrible epithets I’ve heard a thousand times used to refer to gay men? Can I look at him myself without constantly wondering what went wrong?_

“Penny for your thoughts,” Catelyn said, and he realized he must have been silent too long. He brushed a strand of her hair back. 

“They aren’t worth that much, I’m afraid. They’re very small minded.” 

“You are many things, my love. Small minded is not one of them,” she assured him. 

“Isn’t it?” he asked. Sighing, he ran his hands down over her back and gently squeezed the curve of her ass as he let his eyes linger over her face before drifting down to the way her breasts stood out against the fabric of her t-shirt.

“Ned?” she asked, obviously wondering why he’d started pawing at her. 

“I don’t understand it,” he said. “Look at you. Everything about you is desirable. The way you look, the way you feel, the way you smell. God, if I simply keep talking about you this way, I’ll get hard right now in spite of everything else.” He let go of her. “And while you’re the only one I’ve truly wanted to touch for a very long time, all women are beautiful in their own way. Just looking at them is pleasurable.” 

“If you think this is a good way to flirt, you’re wrong. That bit about other women killed it.” She was making a half-hearted attempt to tease him in spite of her worry over Bran. He could see she was still puzzled by his words, but she knew him well enough to know he was more shaken than he wished to let on. In spite of her own distress, she was trying to make him smile. Like she always did. 

“What I’m saying, Cat, is that everything in me is designed to love women. I haven’t the slightest interest in loving a man. I . . . can’t for the life of me see why anyone would.” 

“Oh, I can think of any number of reasons to love one particular man,” she said, trying to smile at him. 

“And I am certainly glad of that,” he said with a small laugh. “But I mean that while I know in my head that men can be attracted to men, I just can’t feel it. And some small minded part of me thinks that I’ve somehow failed my son if he doesn’t feel about women the way I do.” He shook his head. “So you see, my love, if one of us is terrible and selfish, it’s me more than you, because this particular issue is 100% about wanting my son to be like me.” 

“He is like you,” she whispered. “He’s honest and brave. He believes in doing right by people. And he didn’t back down about anything when he told us what he had to tell us today, Ned. And he looked us in the eye when he told us. All of that is you.” 

“He’s still our Bran,” Ned said, looking into his wife’s face, into the eyes she’d given to Bran. “Nothing can change that.” 

“No,” she said, “But I’m afraid we hurt him, Ned. We handled that rather badly, and I don’t know how to fix it. Because I honestly don’t know how happy I can be about this right now. I can love him. I can accept him. But be happy about this? Welcome Jojen with a smile on my face because I’m glad that he and my son are a couple? I don’t think I can do that just yet. I don’t know if I can ever do it completely. How is Bran supposed to feel about me if I can’t share his joy in loving someone the way I share Robb’s? Or any of the other children’s?” 

“As I recall, neither of us reacted terribly well when we first learned about Robb’s true love, either,” Ned said, smiling at her and recalling the scathing words she’d had for their eldest son when he’d come home to announce he’d knocked up a girl they’d never heard of. She’d had some pretty unflattering comments about Jeyne as well, and he’d not been much better about the whole situation. Now, of course, Jeyne was their beloved daughter-in-law, and she and Robb had two children whom Ned and Cat spoiled terribly, but it hadn’t always been that way. “We were awful, Cat, and you know it. But we got better. We can get better here. We’ll figure out what to do.” 

She nodded. “I love you, Ned,” she told him. 

He pressed a kiss to her lips and thanked God he had her because he didn’t know what he’d do without her. Her love was an ever present certainty when nothing else seemed to make sense. And she was never reticent about expressing her love—to him or any of the children. Suddenly a thought struck him. “Damn,” he muttered. 

“Ned?” she asked, sounding a bit concerned. 

“I love you, Cat,” he said almost angrily. 

“And that causes you to curse?” she asked him. 

“No, dammit.” She raised a brow at those words, and he shook his head. “I mean, I do love you, and I hope you know it but I don’t say it very often. I didn’t say it back just then.” 

“You rarely do,” she said. “But I know you love me. Your kisses speak very of well of it.” 

“But . . . I need to tell you.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t object to it, certainly.” 

He kissed her again, no more than a brief peck, and then he turned around and started back into the kitchen. 

“Ned?” she called after him. “Suddenly walking away from me is not a good way to declare your love if that’s what you’re trying to do!” 

“You told our son you loved him,” he said. “Whatever else we said or didn’t say, he walked out of here knowing you love him because you told him.” 

“Ned,” she said softly. “He knows that you . . .” 

“Does he?” Ned asked her. “I’ll be right back, Cat. I’m going to get my phone.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to say to Bran right now, and if I try to talk too much, I’ll likely screw it all up. But I’m going to tell my son I love him.” __________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

_It's Mom,_ Bran told himself as he parked his car outside of the little café. _It’s only Mother, and I have no reason to be nervous. She wants me here._

Still, his hands were shaking when he got out of the car. He hadn’t actually spoken to his mother since that day at home when his last sight of her had been her bright hair as she fled tearfully to the kitchen. She’d texted him the next day and nearly every day since. She’d texted that she loved him. That she would listen to anything he wanted to say to her. That he could call her at any time. 

He hadn’t known what he’d wanted to say to her. He hadn’t even responded to the first few texts. And she hadn’t pushed. He hadn’t known what to make of that because Mother always pushed. Any time something was wrong, she would push in her annoyingly persistent yet somehow comforting way until you let her in—let her help you. He told himself that she wasn’t doing that now because she understood how big this was. Understood that after her reaction, he’d have to let her in on his terms. Still, he worried that the absence of her characteristic pushiness meant that she didn’t really want in anymore. 

He had finally texted back that he loved her, too, though, and over the course of two weeks their messages had gotten at least closer to the way they once had been. They’d even shared a couple of safe jokes about things they had always both laughed about. Then she asked if he was coming to Dad’s birthday party. 

He’d forgotten about the stupid party which was rather a big thing to forget since it’s all Sansa had talked about for months. Dad was turning fifty, and Mom and Sansa intended to celebrate it with flair. His sister had wanted a huge gathering, but their mother, knowing Dad’s intense dislike of really big parties had insisted it be kept to family and really close friends. Still, it was going to be quite an event. One he’d never have forgotten about under normal circumstances. 

But nothing was normal now, and he hadn’t answered Mom’s text about the party. She hadn’t asked if he _and_ Jojen were coming, even though she’d actually started asking him how Jo was sometimes in her messages. When it came to the party, however, she’d only asked if he were coming. No mention of Jo. 

Dad had called him the next day asking if he and Mom had had some kind argument. Dad would always call instead of text which made him harder to ignore somehow. His father had sounded upset on the phone which had made Bran feel awful. Apparently, Mom had cried half the night after he stopped answering her texts. 

“I won’t come without Jojen, Dad,” he’d said. “I won’t be the only one of us who can’t bring the person they most want there.” 

His father had been very quiet for a moment. Even over the phone, Ned Stark’s silences were intimidating. “And did your mother tell you that you couldn’t bring him?” he’d asked finally. 

“Well, no,” Bran had been forced to admit. “But she didn’t ask him to come.” 

“I don’t imagine she invited Gendry, either,” his father had said grimly. “But we assume he’ll be there seeing as how he and your sister are back together . . . again . . . for however long it lasts this time.” 

Bran had almost smiled then. At least his father had finally begun referring to his sister’s on-again off-again boyfriend of six years by name instead of as ‘the gigolo.’ He didn’t think Dad would ever completely recover from his first meeting with Gendry, however, and he found himself grateful to his rebellious sister for maintaining possession of the honor of ‘Worst Introduction of Romantic Partner to Parents EVER’ at least as far as their father was concerned. 

“I don’t know, Dad,” he’d said. “I don’t think it’s the same.” 

“Well, you won’t know if you don’t talk to her, will you?" 

That’s all his father had said. Phone conversations with Dad were never long, but the man tended to make his point. Bran vividly remembered the call he’d received not long after he’d reached Jojen’s place after that awful conversation with his parents. 

“Bran, this is your father.” 

If he hadn’t been trying so hard not to cry all over again at the time, he might have laughed at that. Dad always identified himself in spite of all of them pointing out repeatedly that his name showed up on their phones when he called. 

“What do you want, Dad?” he’d asked, afraid to say much lest his father hear the tears in his voice. He’d never seen his father cry. Dad had lost a lot of people he loved, and Bran knew he missed them terribly, but he’d never seen him cry. He wondered if Mother had. 

“I love you, son,” his father had said almost brusquely. “I didn’t say it earlier. But it’s the truth, and you deserve to hear it.” 

“I . . . I love you, too, Dad,” he’d managed to choke out. Those were hardly the words he’d expected to hear from his father just then. 

“We both love you,” his father had said emphatically, “Your mother and I.” He’d stopped speaking abruptly. “That’s all I really wanted to say,” he’d said after a brief silence. 

“Okay,” Bran had said, his mind busily racing through all nineteen years of his life, trying to recall if his father had ever professed love twice in a single phone conversation before. 

It was a stupid response. ‘Okay.’ But it had been all he could come up with at the time. His father had hung up without saying anything else, but like always, he’d made his point. He’d said precisely what Bran needed most to hear because for the first time in his life, he’d doubted his father’s love. He’d been unable to get Dad’s nearly expressionless face and hard set jaw out of his mind, and he’d been terrified as to what that meant. 

He was still terrified about a lot of things, he realized, walking into the café to meet his mother now, but his parents loved him. They’d both said it, and Mom had texted it repeatedly. And whatever else his parents were or weren’t, they had never been liars. 

He saw her before she saw him. She sat in a corner booth with her phone in her hand, a slight frown creasing her brow as she texted someone. _Probably Dad_ , he thought. _About me._ Her hair was pulled up and off her neck in a casual twist that managed to look elegant on his mother. Of course, everything looked elegant on Mother. At forty-nine, she was still strikingly beautiful, and Bran had threatened to beat up more than one guy in high school for labeling her a MILF. If she didn’t start aging a lot more quickly, Rick would be doing the same. Just as he started to smile at that thought, she looked up and saw him. He watched her bite her lip and hesitate before waving to him, and as he approached the table, he saw that the crease remained between her brows even as she offered him a small smile. She had small lines around her eyes mouth as well that he’d never noticed before. 

_They are getting older_ , he thought. _Dad’s fifty tomorrow. And I’ve probably aged them more these past two weeks than anything else has in years._

“Bran!” Mother said, reaching up to grasp his hand when he reached her. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“Hi, Mom,” he replied, letting her keep hold of his hand as he slid into the seat across from her. “How’s Dad?" 

She gave him a crooked smile and held up the phone she still had in her other hand. “Actually attempting to text me. Because I told him not to call. He knows I think it’s rude when people insist on talking on the phone while they’re sitting with other people.” 

Bran grinned at her and squeezed her hand before letting it go so he could lean back in his seat. “You think it’s rude to text, too.” 

She laughed. “Well, yes. But I suppose he considers it the lesser of two evils and I didn’t specifically tell him not to text. Of course, it takes him forever to type anything so . . .” She shook her head, looked down at her phone screen and quickly typed something before dropping the phone into her purse. “I told him you’re here, that we’re not killing each other, and that I’ll talk to him later.” 

Bran raised a brow. “All that, Mom? So quickly? You’re even better than Arya or Rickon, then!” 

She laughed again, and it didn’t sound strained. “Bran here. We’re OK. Talk later. I’ve learned something from the six of you, you know.” 

“Yeah.” Bran swallowed. “Mom . . . about this party . . .” 

“I want you there, Bran,” she said firmly. “This is for your father, and without all five of you, it won’t be the same. It’s bad enough that Jon can’t get leave. Please, Bran.” 

“You want _me_ there,” he said watched his mother’s slight frown return as she heard the word he emphasized. 

“I want you there,” she repeated. “And anyone you wish to bring. Bran, even once you are out of school and completely on your own, our home will always be your home, too. I have no intention of barring it to any friend of yours. Nor does your father.” 

“Jojen isn’t just any friend, Mother. I love him.” 

He watched her face very carefully and saw no signs of revulsion or rejection. She did, however, look sad. 

“I know you do, sweetheart,” she said. 

“You aren’t happy about that, are you?” 

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Bran, from the moment you were born, I’ve wanted nothing for you except love and joy and health and security. That’s all. I’ve tried to catch you whenever you’ve fallen, and I’ve cleaned your scrapes and bandaged your knees when I couldn’t stop the fall. I worry that you’re setting yourself up for hurts I can’t help.” 

“Setting myself up?” Bran said, and he could hear the irritation in his voice. 

She grimaced. “Poor choice of words. Forgive me. I just . . . life is hard enough, Bran. And you can’t pretend this doesn’t make it harder. I want only good things for you, sweetheart, and I . . . I can’t fix this. I can’t make it better.” 

“I don’t need to be fixed, Mom! I don’t want to be fixed. I’m not broken.” He willed himself not to shout at her. He’d asked her to meet him here today, after all, and she’d come. 

“No,” she said almost angrily herself. “You are not broken. Don’t ever call yourself broken, Brandon Stark. Do you hear me?” 

The expression on her face and the steel in her voice reminded him forcefully of the anger she’d always expressed when he or any of his siblings said cruel things about one another in her hearing. 

“But . . . you said you wanted to fix me,” he almost whispered, feeling about ten years old as he looked at her. 

“No,” she said firmly. “You do not need fixing, Bran. I said I can’t fix _this._ ” She made a rather sweeping motion with her arms as she said ‘this,’ nearly hitting the rather surprised waitress who chose that moment to come and take their order. Mom apologized very sincerely and ordered only sweet tea. 

Bran asked for unsweet tea, and she made a face. He, alone, of all the Stark children preferred his iced tea without sugar or lemon, just like his father, and Mother had frequently commented on such a beverage being undrinkable. 

Bran allowed himself to smile at her expression only briefly as the waitress walked away before pressing her further. “Fix what then, Mother? What do you want to fix?” 

She sighed, and her eyes looked sad again. “Everything,” she said. “As I told you before, I want all good things for you. I’d take away everything that might ever hurt you I could. And, of course, I can’t.” She paused, and he could see her searching for words. “Your father and I have always tried to teach you children to be good. To be strong. To be kind. To be honest.” She smiled just a bit. “And you are, Bran. You are all those things, and those things should be enough to see you through all your days. But they aren’t. Sometimes I fear the thing we haven’t taught you all well enough is just how cruel this world can be. Life is often hard, son. And I can’t help but worry when I know this will make it even harder for you." 

“And by this, you mean the fact that I’m gay." 

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. 

“And so you’d rather I weren’t gay.” 

She looked at him a long time, and the waitress returned with their drinks before she spoke again. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that Bran. I would not change who you are. But . . . I’m afraid. I want good things for you, and I wish the world were different. But it isn’t, and so I worry about what this means for your life. For your future. I know you want me to be happy for you, Bran, and I promise I’ll try. But I’ve never lied to you.” She gave a sad kind of laugh. “Not even when you asked me about Santa Claus at a much younger age than Robb or the girls had. It broke my heart, but you said you wanted the ‘real truth’ and I gave it to you.” 

Bran remembered that well enough. He’d been five, and he’d asked the question hoping desperately he was wrong. When Mother had gently explained that she and Dad did indeed set out all the presents on Christmas Eve, he’d walked away half wishing she’d lied to him. 

“I’m not happy about this, Bran,” she said now with a deep sigh. “I wish I could be. I’m not angry with you, sweetheart, and I’m not angry at Jojen. I spoke like a fool before, and I’m sorry. I know better. I’m not disappointed in you, either. I am always proud of you, Bran." 

“But not happy for me. Not happy that I’m finally accepting myself just as I am. Not happy that I have someone who loves me. Someone I love with all my heart.” He heard the pleading note creeping into his voice. “Why doesn’t that make you happy, Mom?” 

“I’m trying, Bran,” she whispered, closing her eyes momentarily. “I want you and Jojen to come to your father’s birthday party. I am asking you, son. Please come. Please don’t shut us out. Even if I can’t say everything you want to hear.” 

_She is trying,_ he thought. It didn’t make it hurt less, but it made it hard to be really angry at her. He’d quit being angry at Dad after a couple ridiculously short phone calls. He realized he still didn’t truly know how Dad felt about all this. Because Dad didn’t say much. And Mom said as much as she could find words for. They’d always been like that, the two of them. Dad loved him. He’d grown up as certain of that as he was of anything. But serious emotional support? That was Mom’s department. Maybe that’s why he found it harder to give her a pass now. Because he’d come to expect more from her whether that was fair or not. 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. 

“No, Bran,” his mother started to say. 

“It’s only tea, Mom. Let me treat you. I can afford tea.” 

She nodded, lips pressed tightly together, still awaiting his answer. 

He threw several dollars down on the table and then stood up and walked over to take her hand. Bending down, he kissed her on the cheek and said, “We’ll be there, Mom.” 

“Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“I love you, Mom,” he said, and then he turned and walked out of the café, half wishing for the second time in his life that his mother had just lied to him.

_________________________________________________________________________________________

“You honestly didn’t know? Seriously, Cat. Not even an inkling?" 

Catelyn sighed. “For the last time, Lysa, Bran had his first little girlfriend in the eighth grade and, to our knowledge, had dated only young women ever since.” 

“Well, I haven’t told my Robert,” her sister said primly. “And I’d appreciate if none of you did, either. This is the first day he’s felt really good in a long while, and I don’t want to upset him.” 

Catelyn rolled her eyes. “Robert is eighteen, Lysa. I imagine he knows what it means to be gay.” 

“Well, I don’t want him to spend Ned’s party worried about it. He _likes_ Bran.” 

Catelyn’s sigh then would have warned anyone less oblivious than her sister of precisely how irritated she was becoming. “Of course, he likes Bran. Everybody likes Bran. He’s one of the most likable people I know,” Catelyn snapped. “He’ll like Jojen, too. He’s a nice boy.” 

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be letting _that_ boy anywhere near _my_ son, Cat.” 

Catelyn laid down the knife she’d been using to ice the cupcakes lest she be tempted to stab her only sister with it and said, “Lysa, leave.” 

“Leave? I haven’t finished cutting these . . .” 

“Just go. Sansa will help me.” 

Lysa frowned at her. “Look, Cat. I’m sorry your one perfect son turned gay, but that’s no reason to take it out on me. I am trying to help you . . .” 

“Get out of my kitchen, Lysa!” she nearly shouted. 

“Do you need any help in here, ladies?” Ned asked with forced brightness in his voice, and Catelyn looked over to see him standing in the doorway studying her with some concern.

“We’re almost finished,” she said, forcing her voice to be calm. “But Lysa needs a break. She’s been in here helping me with the food for hours.” 

“Robb!” Ned called over his shoulder. “Come in here and get your Aunt Lysa and fix her a drink,” he called in that same artificially bright voice. “She seems to think she’s the hired help instead of a guest!” 

He smiled at Lysa. “It’s my birthday so I’m the boss,” he told her. “If I say you have to sit down and put your feet up, then you must do it.” 

“Hey, Aunt Lysa!” Robb said, coming into the kitchen and flashing his thousand watt smile which looked much more charming than Ned’s obviously fake one. “Come join us in the living room. Robert’s been telling us all about that birdwatching excursion he’s planning this summer. You know, the one atop Giant’s Lance along the cliffs up there?”

Lysa’s face turned pale. “I’ve told him he is not doing that. It’s far too dangerous." 

At that moment, Robb’s six year old son came running into the kitchen. “Daddy! Mommy says come see how high Robert’s tossing Josie in the air! I’m gonna see if he’ll throw me!” 

“I’ll be there in a minute, Ed,” Robb grinned, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Don’t tire our cousin out now. He’s not a big toy!” 

“That boy is wild, Robb,” Lysa said as Edwyle ran back out of the room. “And I’m afraid your little Jocelyn is following right along in his footsteps. I won’t have them exhausting Robert. He’s been ill, you know.” 

“Aw, Robert’s having a ball, Aunt Lysa,” Robb said, coming over to take her arm. “Come sit with him while he tells us more about all the big climbs on this trip he’s taking and I’ll get you that drink.” 

Lysa looked grim but let Robb steer her out of the kitchen without protest. Robb winked at his father over his shoulder as he went out the door. 

“That was mean, Eddard Stark,” Catelyn said as her husband came to put his arms around her. 

“No it wasn’t. She was upsetting you, and given the awful things she’s been saying to our kids, I can imagine what she was saying in here. She deserved it.” 

“She did,” Catelyn agreed. “I meant it was mean to poor Robert. She’s going to be all over him now, and he didn’t do anything.” 

Ned laughed and kissed her forehead. “He’s in on it. Volunteered actually.” He frowned slightly. “He’s a good kid, Cat, and she embarrasses him. Thank God he finally convinced her to stop calling him Sweetrobin in public. Is she really refusing to let him go away to college next year?” 

“That’s what she says,” Catelyn sighed. “I’ve tried talking to her, but you know she listens to no one when it comes to Robert. He’s eighteen, Ned. He’s going to have to take a stand with her himself, I’m afraid.” She pulled out of Ned’s arms and walked to the window to look out toward the driveway. “What if he doesn’t come, Ned?" 

“He’s coming, Cat. They’re coming. The party doesn’t officially start for more than another hour, you know.” 

“But I told him our family would all be here early. I called him just this morning and he said okay.” 

“Did you tell him Lysa was coming early to help with the food? That might have given him pause.” 

“Ha. Ha.” 

“Arya and her gigolo aren’t here yet, either,” Ned said, coming up to stand behind her. 

“Stop calling him that,” Catelyn said, turning and smacking his arm. “Gendry could only get a half day off, so we knew they’d be coming later. But Bran . . ." 

“Is right there,” Ned said, nodding over head in the direction of the window. 

She spun back around and sure enough, Bran’s car had just pulled into the drive. She watched as he got out and then just stood there staring at the house. She didn’t think she could be seen easily through the little kitchen window, but she took a step backward anyway and watched as her son looked at the home in which he’d been raised as if he feared to enter it. 

Then Jojen Reed got out of the car, walked over to him and took his hand. Bran looked at him and smiled, and the two of them began walking toward the front door. 

“Go to the door, Ned,” she said. 

“Aren’t you coming?” 

“I’ll meet you all out in the living room in a moment. I want to get that last cupcake iced.” 

He looked at her with a concerned expression on his face again, but didn’t press her. He simply kissed her quickly and left the kitchen. 

She took a deep breath and picked up her knife again, almost angrily icing the cupcake as she tried not to cry. Her baby had been afraid to come into his own house. How had this happened? She wanted to make it all right again so badly. 

_So help me, God, if Lysa says one mean thing to him, I will murder her._ She couldn’t help but recall her sister’s earlier question, though. Had she known? On some level, had she suspected but refused to see? Had she forced her son to pretend for her in his own house? 

She heard loud laughter and boisterous greetings from down the hall which told her Bran and Jojen had come in. She should go out there. She should greet her son. _What if I can’t smile? What if . . ._

“Mom?” 

She looked up from the cupcake to see Sansa standing just inside the kitchen. 

“Bran’s here.” 

She nodded and dipped the knife into the icing again. 

“If you put any more icing on that one, Ed will have it smeared all over your carpet,” Sansa said in a slightly admonishing tone of voice reminiscent of one of her one. “Unless Josie gets to it first.” 

“Which would be worse,” Catelyn said with a half-hearted laugh, setting cupcake and knife both down. 

“He’s looking for you, Mom.” 

Catelyn nodded again and turned to face her daughter. “I’ll be right out. I need to get these things out to the dining room and . . .” 

“Let me do it. Go see Bran.” She gave a little giggle. “I’m proud of Dad. He’s being a hell of lot more cordial to Jojen than he ever is to Gendry.” 

Catelyn pressed her lips together. “Your sister and her young man have only themselves to blame for that,” she said, defending her husband almost reflexively. “They made very poor choices when Arya was younger, and it has not been easy for your father to move past that.” 

“Well, Bran makes good choices,” Sansa said firmly. “So what’s difficult for you to move past here, Mom?” 

Catelyn’s eyes widened, and Sansa laughed. 

“I know,” she said. “Normally, it’s Arya who’d say something like that to you. But she won’t be here until the house is full of people, and Robb has a hell of a time saying anything even remotely critical to you ever . . . so, I’m it." 

__“Have you children been discussing me?” Catelyn asked._ _

“We’re not children, Mom. Well, Rickon is. But he’s completely fine except for wanting to punch Walder Frey’s teeth out. Honestly though, if this gets him away from that juvenile delinquent, then Bran being gay may be the best thing that ever happened to this family!” 

“Sansa,” Catelyn said in exasperation, shaking her head. 

“Well, it certainly isn’t the worst,” Sansa insisted. “Bran and I have talked more in the past couple weeks than we’ve talked in forever. He called to officially tell me what I already knew a couple days after he talked to you and Dad. And Arya and I have been talking. Even Robb, some. And Mr. Family Man’s usually so busy trying to be Dad 2.0 with his little wolf pack, he doesn’t do the big brother sort of thing very often. It’s been kind of nice, actually.” 

“I appreciate that you’re all there for him, Sansa. I really do. Your father and I will be there for him, too. I just can’t help worrying about him. And whatever you all say about it, there are reasons to worry.” 

“You worry about all of us, Mom! And you should with most of us. I mean, Robb’s life could have turned out shitty when Jeyne got pregnant with Ed. He was a self-centered jerk back then, you know. And all his problems were of his own making. And you were there for him 100%. Well . . . once you decided not to murder him or cut off his dick.” She grinned. 

“Sansa Stark!” 

“And he’s great now, Mom. He’s happy. Jeyne’s happy. And Ed and Josie are . . . well, Robb messed up big time, and you helped him get through it. Same with Arya and Gendry. How you kept Dad from killing him or at least having him arrested for statutory rape, I’ll never know. And that’s only the dumbest of the million dumb things Arya’s done to be honest. And as for my track record with men . . . well, let’s see . . .” She held up her hand and counted on her fingers. “There were my two years spent as Joffrey Baratheon’s favorite punching bag, then the completely insane affair with Sandor Clegane because nothing says ‘happily ever after’ like putting two of the most damaged, angry people in the world together, right?” 

“Sansa . . .” Catelyn tried to interject, but her daughter kept speaking as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “And, of course, dear Whoring Harry Hardyng,” she said, holding up a third finger, “who screwed every willing girl he ever met, and I let him get away with it because . . . I deserved no better, right?” 

“Sansa Stark, you stop talking about yourself like that immediately, young lady. You know you deserve all the love and happiness in this world and . . ." 

To her great surprise, Sansa started laughing. “Yeah, Mom,” she said. “I do. Because you’ve been drilling that into my head through all my stupid decisions and never giving up on me. You’ve always believed I can have the life I want no matter how often I’ve done things to screw it up, and I’ve finally gotten to a place where I believe it, too. But that’s just it. With all the rest of us . . . and yes, I mean Rickon, too—we all make excuses for him because he’s the baby, but 90% of the trouble he gets in results from his own bad decisions . . .with all of us, you have believed in us and been hopeful for us in spite of every bad choice. Bran doesn’t make bad choices. He’s the only one, Mom. And now you act like there’s no hope for him not because of something he’s done but because of who he is! How is that supposed to make him feel?” 

Catelyn stood there, letting Sansa’s words hit her. Letting her mind absorb precisely what her daughter had said regardless of how much it hurt. “I don’t know, Sansa,” she said softly. “But I do need to go and see my son.” She glanced quickly around the various trays and platters still lying about in the kitchen. “You’ll take care of these . . .” 

“I’ve got it, Mom. Go.” 

Catelyn smiled sadly and walked from the kitchen. She felt hollow inside because Sansa’s words had made sense to her. Her heart broke for her son and the pain she was causing him. She wanted desperately to undo that. But Sansa’s words made the root of her own feelings clearer to her as well. She’d always believed in her children. All five of them. All six of them, because Jon was as good as hers and Ned’s. So any time they did something colossally stupid or wrong, she held onto her belief in the good, strong people they were at heart. She could never lose hope in that. Not for any of them. But Sansa was right. Bran hadn’t done anything wrong, except possibly going to such great lengths to hide this part of himself from them for so long. She wondered idly if this would have been better, easier, if he’d been honest with himself and them earlier. Or if she and Ned had somehow looked at him more closely and seen . . . 

There was no point in such thoughts, and she pushed them away. No. The damned horrible truth was that Bran hadn’t done anything wrong, and there was nothing wrong with him. But as she had told him, the world could be a terrible, cruel place, and she couldn’t change the world. She wished Bran had made some horrible choice. She could help him with that. But she couldn’t and wouldn’t want to change who he was. And since she couldn’t change the world, any hope for his future remained clouded by fear she couldn’t shake. 

She did have to smile when she walked into the living room. Bran and Jojen sat together, still holding hands. Ned was saying something to them, and he had his hand on Bran’s shoulder. Robb carried two beers over to hand them while Catelyn watched, and she bit her lip. Technically, Bran was under the legal drinking age, but she decided to let it pass this once. 

“I win!” 

Ed’s gleeful shout drew her eyes to the floor where Rickon lay on his back with Edwyle sitting astride his chest, apparently just having vanquished his uncle in some form of play wrestling match. Jeyne sat in a chair with two year old Jocelyn draped over her shoulder, looking very drowsy. Lysa and her son were nowhere to be seen. 

“Mom!” Bran said as he looked up and saw her. He let go of Jojen’s hand and stood up to come and give her a hug. 

She smiled widely at him. “Sorry I’m so slow to greet you, sweetheart,” she said as brightly as she could. “But I’m afraid the cupcakes refused to ice themselves.” 

“Cupcakes?” Edwyle and Rickon asked almost simultaneously from the floor. 

She laughed at the two of them--one a little baby-faced stick of a boy, and the other already much bigger than she was with uneven razor stubble on his face from his poor attempt at shaving—as they looked up at her with identical greedy expressions. “For later,” she said. “After we’ve eaten.” 

“They’ll be worth waiting for, Ed,” came a warm, friendly voice. “Your grandmother has always made the best cupcakes I’ve ever tasted!” 

Catelyn looked toward the sofa to see Jojen smiling at Ed and then looking up at her. “Hello, Mrs. Stark,” he said, rising. 

She let go of Bran and walked over to take Jojen’s hands briefly. “Hello, Jojen,” she said. “It is good to see you again. And thank you for the compliment to my baking.” 

He smiled at her. “A well-deserved compliment,” he said. 

Before she could respond to that, her sister’s voice came from the staircase. “Yes, Cat always gets compliments on her cooking.” 

“Where’s Robert?” Catelyn asked as Lysa carried her empty cocktail glass to Robb, handing it to him as if he were a waiter. 

“Another, Aunt Lysa?” he asked politely. 

“Please,” Lysa said before turning back to Catelyn. “He’s sulking,” she said. “In some bedroom that looks like a bomb went off in it.” 

“Rickon’s,” Robb and Bran said together before bursting into laughter. 

“Although, to be fair, it could just as easily have been mine before I left for college. I’m just not here enough to make too big a mess now,” Bran added. 

“Oh, I’d say you’ve managed to make a big enough mess of your own, young man,” Lysa said. “And you,” she continued, rounding on Robb who was putting ice in her glass. “What do you mean by encouraging little Robert in that nonsense about mountain climbing and rare birds and . . .” 

“ _Little_ Robert is eighteen, Lysa,” Ned said calmly enough. “And he understands his limitations. He actually has a very good plan for . . ." 

“You stay out of this, Ned! Robert is my son, not yours! You and Cat can barely manage your own brood so I’ve no need of your advice in raising my child.” 

“I’ll thank you not to speak that way to my husband in my house,” Catelyn said. “And Robb, put down that glass. It seems your aunt has had enough.” 

“I’ve had one drink, Cat! And you are not my mother. I’d like another scotch, Robb.” 

Poor Robb stood there frozen with Lysa’s drink in his hand, looking more six than twenty-six, and Catelyn took pity on him, nodding that he could give Lysa her drink. Breathing deeply, she made her voice level. “Why don’t you bring your drink in the kitchen with me, Lysa. We can help Sansa finish laying everything out. You’re always so good at arranging things nicely.” 

Her sister smiled, accepted the drink from Robb’s hand, and turned to walk into the kitchen. With apologetic looks toward Robb, Bran, and Ned, Catelyn followed her. 

“Sansa, go back out to the living room,” she said as soon as she got there. 

“But I’m almost . . .” 

__“Sansa, go. I need to speak with my sister.”_ _

__Without another word, Sansa put down the tray she held and walked from the room._ _

__“Oh, Cat!” Lysa said, adopting a sympathetic expression as soon as Sansa had gone. “You poor thing! Do you know they walked in here holding hands just as brazen as could be? With your grandchildren right there to see it!”_ _

__“Yes,” Catelyn said dryly. “Because my grandchildren have never seen anyone hold hands before.”_ _

__“Oh, you know what I mean,” Lysa insisted. “It was just right there in everyone’s faces, like they were challenging us to say something. I was almost glad that Robert was being difficult since it gave me an excuse to get him and me both out of the room. I just feel so badly for you, Cat!"__

Catelyn closed her eyes and forced herself to take several deep breaths before speaking. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at her sister. “Lysa, I think you should go home.” 

Lysa stared at her in disbelief. “What?” 

“I want you to leave,” Catelyn said softly. 

“What . . . how dare you! I’ve been here for hours helping you and . . .” 

“Yes, you have, and I appreciate it. But you aren’t enjoying yourself. Robert is miserable. And you obviously have a problem with the fact that my son is gay. It’s Ned’s birthday Lysa. His fiftieth. And the kids and I have been planning this far too long to have it ruined.” 

“Well, in that case, perhaps you should have asked your little girly boy to stay in the closet a bit longer,” Lysa said angrily. “And don’t pretend you’re all right with this, because I know you better than that! Taking your problems out on me isn’t going to make them go away, Cat!” 

Catelyn took another deep breath. “Bran isn’t the least bit girly, Lysa. He never has been. He is gay. Not the same thing.” 

Lysa snorted. “Well, he’s got no fashion sense whatsoever, that’s for sure. Maybe his little boyfriend can at least get him to dress properly. He’s at least dressed well so maybe he’s the gayer of the two.” 

“Lysa, this has to stop! My god, do you not hear yourself? Robb’s been a fanatic for nice clothes since he was five. By your reckoning, he’s the gayest man in the house!" 

“Well . . . his wife might want to keep him away from that Reed boy. If he convinced Bran, he just might . . ." 

“Shut up, Lysa!” Catelyn shouted, hating that in her sister’s ignorant words, she heard the echo of her own hysterical reaction when Bran had named Jojen as his lover. “Just shut up. My son will have to listen to this kind of trash for the rest of his life, but God help me, he will not listen to it in his own home. And I will not listen to it from my own sister. Ever. Go home, Lysa. Please.” 

Lysa looked daggers at her. “Perfect Cat,” she said. “Perfect Cat whom everybody loves with her perfect husband and perfect children. Only they aren’t so perfect, and I know that. I know all the dirty little secrets about your not-so-perfect family, and that’s why you want me out of here. You can’t have anyone spoiling your illusion once the guests arrive.” 

“Mom?” 

Catelyn looked over to see Bran standing in the doorway, looking worried. Worried about her. 

“Oh, hello there, Bran,” Lysa said rather nastily. “I’m afraid Robert and I must be going. Your mother doesn’t want us here. Word of advice. Try not to hold hands with your little boyfriend in front of any important guests or she’ll likely throw you out on your ear, too." 

She then swept out of the kitchen, calling for Robert, leaving Catelyn staring at her son. “Bran,” she said. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.” She wasn’t sure if she was apologizing for Lysa, for herself, or for things she didn’t even understand and couldn’t explain. 

“I’m all right, Mom.” He hugged her. “We’re all pretty immune to Aunt Lysa by now. She’s just . . .” 

“Unhappy,” Catelyn said. 

“Yeah,” Bran agreed. “Unhappy.” 

She looked up at her son, thinking that he’d actually gotten to be a bit taller than Robb. “And you aren’t, are you? Unhappy, I mean.” 

“No, Mom. I’m not. I heard what you said. To Aunt Lysa, I mean. And you’re right. I will hear ignorant people say ignorant things. But that can’t hurt me. You and Dad raised me stronger and smarter than that.” 

She realized she was crying, and she wiped her eyes. “I can’t help but worry. I’m sorry.” 

“You wouldn’t be Mother if you didn’t worry. I just want you to understand that I’m okay. And I’m going to be okay. And that I really am happy.” 

“Bran, are you all right?” 

Catelyn looked up to see Jojen Reed now standing in the door looking at Bran with obvious caring and concern. When his eyes moved toward her, she saw a touch of suspicion, and she supposed that wasn’t entirely undeserved.

“Yeah,” Bran said. “Is my aunt gone?”

“Blew out of here like a hurricane,” Jojen said. “Your poor cousin. He looked miserable, but he was doing his best to calm her down.”

“He always does,” Catelyn said softly. “He’s a good son to her.”

Jojen looked at her once more with his green eyes narrowed slightly, and Catelyn cursed her choice of words, wondering if he thought she meant to compare Bran to Robert unfavorably.

“Robert’s a good guy,” Bran agreed. “But I’m glad they’re gone. Aunt Lysa was upsetting my mother.”

Catelyn smiled and kissed Bran’s cheek before pulling out of his embrace so that he could speak with Jojen less awkwardly. “I’m fine, Bran,” she assured him.

“Only your mother?” Jojen asked carefully, eyes on Bran as if Catelyn weren’t there.

“My mother,” Bran said firmly, stepping very close to Jojen. “Aunt Lysa can’t hurt me, Jo. You know me better than that.”

“I do,” Jojen said softly, putting a hand on Bran’s cheek. “I just wanted to make sure. Family stuff can be . . .”

“Yeah,” Bran said, glancing briefly toward Catelyn. “Family stuff can be messy. But I’m pretty lucky in mine.”

That caused Catelyn to tear up once more, and she had to turn away, holding her hand to her mouth.

“You still feel like a party?” she heard Jojen ask softly after a moment.

“It’s my dad’s birthday,” Bran said, and Catelyn could hear the smile in his voice. “The old man’s a half century old. No way am I going to miss harassing him about that all day!”

“I love you,” Jojen said, not the least bit inhibited by Catelyn’s presence.

“I know,” Bran replied, and when the two young men laughed, Catelyn found herself laughing with them and turning back around.

“I really am fine, Bran. You two go on back out to the living room. I’ll be right there.”

“Go get my dad, Jo. Please?” Bran said.

“I’m fine, Bran. Go with Jojen.”

“It’s as much for Dad as for you, Mom,” Bran said. “He was halfway in here as soon as Aunt Lysa started yelling, but Sansa said I should go.” He shrugged. “She’s had so much counseling, she thinks she’s a specialist in family interventions or something.”

Catelyn laughed. “All right then, send me your dad, but you needn’t stay here with me.”

“I want to.” He looked back at Jojen who still hovered beside him. “Go on, Jo. We’re all good here. I promise.”

As Jojen smiled and turned to leave the kitchen, Catelyn caught sight of her son’s face as he watched the other man walk away, and she inhaled sharply in surprise and recognition.

“What is it, Mom?” asked, apparently having heard her.

“Nothing,” she said, smiling at him.

“It’s something,” he said. “You look . . . different.”

She reached up and touched his cheek. “No, I see a few things differently. That’s all.”

“Good different?” he asked.

“Very good,” she said.

“Cat? Cat, are you all right? What did that infernal woman say to you? My god, I know she’s your sister, but I swear she . . .”

“I’m fine, Ned,” she said, walking away from Bran to intercept her husband, laying her hands on his arms. “Everything is all right.”

He looked into her eyes for a moment as if searching for something she wasn’t saying, and then said, “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure, my love.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll just leave you two alone, then,” Bran said, smiling a bit. “She might need a kiss, Dad,” he said, “if you’re not too old for that sort of thing now, I mean.”

“You aren’t as funny as you think you are, Bran,” Ned said, finally taking his eyes off Catelyn to regard their son. “I still know what to do with a woman, I assure you. Especially this one.”

“And . . . on that note . . .” Bran said, making a show of leaving the kitchen in haste. He did wink at Catelyn as he reached the door, though, and she felt an almost giddy sort of joy in her heart that she hadn’t really felt since Bran had sat them both down to tell them his secret.

“Oh, fuck me!” Ned swore once Bran was out of the room.

“What?” she said, alarmed at the sudden scowl on his face and uncharacteristic use of the obscenity.

“I still know what to do with a woman? What the hell kind of thing was that to say to Bran now?”

She sighed. “A truthful one, I hope,” she offered in a weak attempt at humor. He didn’t smile. “Ned,” she said softly. “You’ve always said things like that about me to irritate and embarrass our children. Bran doesn’t expect you to stop now. You don’t have to be different with him, my love. He doesn’t want that.”

“I don’t want him to think I’m trying to criticize him, Cat. I don’t want . . .” He broke off abruptly. “He and Jojen were holding hands when they came in.”

“Lysa said as much,” she said darkly. “It _bothered_ her.”

“It . . . it didn’t bother me,” Ned said. “But I confess it looked . . . odd. Seeing my son come into the house holding hands with another man.” He shook his head. “Goddammit, I do NOT want to be like Lysa!”

“You are nothing like Lysa, my love,” she said soothingly. “Come sit with me.” She led him to the kitchen table, and they both sat down. “Bran is all right,” she said. “He’s all right now, and he’s going to be all right. I’m certain of it.”

He looked at her quizzically. “But you said it yourself, Cat. The world is full of people far more hateful than Lysa. And if his own father has to take a moment to be comfortable with the fact that he’s holding his lover’s hand, how much worse will the rest of the world treat him?” He shook his head sadly. “I don’t want him to suffer, Cat. He’s too good a man to deserve that.”

“He deserves to be happy, Ned. And I know he will be.”

He raised a brow. “That’s a bit of a change of heart, my love. You aren’t worried about all the things that concerned you before?”

“Oh, I still am,” she admitted. “But I know something now that I didn’t before.”

“And what is that?” he asked her.

She looked at him a long moment and asked, “Do you love me, Ned?”

“With all my heart,” he answered without hesitation.

She smiled. “And if someone told you to stop loving me, could you? Would you even try to?”

“No. And hell no.”

“What if loving me guaranteed you any number of problems and even heartache and, in fact, put any future happiness in jeopardy?”

“You are my happiness,” he said. “You. The children. This life we’ve made. There are a few precious things worth whatever the cost, my love. You are one of those. For me.”

She felt her eyes tear up again, but these were happy tears. “I know that, Ned. I do. And I saw it just a few moments ago.”

“You saw what?”

“You. I looked at Bran, and I saw you.” 

“Did you?”

She nodded. “He looks like me, I know. At least, more like me than you. People always say they see features in his face.”

“Fortunate boy,” Ned said.

She snorted at him, but then continued in all seriousness. “But just before you came in, I looked at our son and saw you. He was looking at Jojen who was simply walking away. He didn’t even see Bran looking at him. And Bran’s expression was yours exactly. The one I see sometimes when you look at me. Even sometimes when you don’t realize I’ve seen you looking.” She reached out her hands to touch his face. “And when I see that expression, Ned, I know you love me, and that if I never hear you say the words again, I’ll never doubt your love for all my life if you simply look at me like that for it says so much more than words ever could.” 

“Cat,” he started in a voice thick with emotion, but she moved her hand to his lips. 

“And I feel the same for you. You know that, don’t you?”

He nodded and kissed the fingers she’d pressed to his lips.

“Lysa will probably never know how that feels, Ned. To love someone like that. And it breaks my heart. But our son . . . our son does. When I watched him look at the man he loves, I saw it as clearly as I see you now, and whatever else he faces, whatever hurts may come his way, I am happy for him, Ned. How can I not be? We know what this is, you and I. We know what it’s worth. And what more could we want for any of our children, really?”

He pulled her hand down from his lips and leaned forward to kiss her. It was a sweet, tender kiss, and she made no effort to move away from him even when it had gone on for several minutes. The sound of the door chimes caused both of them to jump a bit, and he sat up straight in his chair to look at her. “If Bran loves that boy anywhere near as much as I love you, then nothing will tear him from his side. And he’ll forever find joy in him. Even if his father is an idiot at times.”

“Or if his mother is a frightened fool.”

“Frightened maybe, but never a fool. That word does not apply to you, my love.”

She laughed through her tears as they heard a bellowing baritone voice ring out, “Where is the old man? Is he down for a nap to rest his brittle bones?” Laughter followed that exclamation. Robb’s response was too quiet to hear in its entirety, but she heard the word ‘Mom,’ and even louder laughter followed that.

“Robert would be the first guest to arrive,” Ned said, laughing and shaking his head. “He’ll be in here as soon as he gets through the kids.”

“Well, we’d better go out then,” she said standing up. “I don’t want Robert Baratheon in my kitchen before we serve dinner. He picks at everything and gets his grimy hands in all the food. He’s worse than Edwyle!” 

He rose beside her. “Are you certain you’re ready for this, Cat?”

She smiled at him. “Ready to watch people we know and love make fun of you for several hours? I can’t wait!” She tiptoed then to kiss him once more. “Happy Birthday, my love. I hope we’ve made it a good one for you.”

“Cat, I am the luckiest man in the world. And I’m so happy at the moment, I promise I’ll be nothing but nice to Gendry. I’ll even keep Robert from trying to ‘bond’ with him if he gets drunk.”

“When he gets drunk,” Catelyn sighed knowingly. “Remind me to enlist one of the kids to drive him home later.”

“I see you, you know,” Ned said suddenly.

“What?” she asked, not following him.

“In Bran. I’ve always seen you, and I don’t mean your blue eyes. I see your loyalty to those you love. Your fierce determination to protect them. Your stubborn insistence upon judging yourself more harshly than you judge anyone else. Bran has all that.”

“I see your courage,” she replied. “Your honesty. Your sense of decency.”

“Damn,” he said, smiling down at her. “We made a good kid, didn’t we?”

“We did,” she said, smiling back. “We made five of them. All different. All wonderful.”

“Wanna make more?” he said, sliding a hand down to grab her ass as he pulled her in for a kiss.

“Jesus Christ! The world is upside down!” Robert Baratheon exclaimed, and Ned and Catelyn broke their kiss to see his large frame filling the doorway. Ned didn’t let go of her ass though, and Robert shook his head. “Upside down, I tell you. I’m out there smiling at small children and making small talk while you’re back here groping gorgeous women.”

“Hello, Robert,” Catelyn said, smiling.

With a final squeeze, Ned released her and went to grip the hand of his oldest friend. Too much had happened through the years for the two of them to ever be as close as they once were, but Catelyn knew theirs was a friendship that could never be completely severed, and she was glad Robert had come.

“You are a vision as always, Cat,” Robert boomed. He made a big show of looking Ned up and down. “You look old,” he pronounced. Then he clapped Ned soundly on the back and said, “Lead me to the bar, Birthday Boy!”

With a helpless look at Cat, Ned allowed Robert to lead him out of the kitchen, and she smiled after them.

 _The world is upside down,_ Robert had said. Maybe it was. She’d certainly felt that way over the past days. But however the world turned now, she’d regained her balance. And she felt confident in her ability to help those she loved keep their balance again as well. She knew there were challenges ahead for all of them. Especially for Bran and Jojen. But she was equally confident that there was joy. The door chimes rang once more to announce another party guest’s arrival, and still smiling, Catelyn went out to her family to celebrate the joy.

____


End file.
